


Farewell Wanderlust

by Assthorn



Series: It's Not Fair [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Domestic Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Jaskier the Monster Hunter, Jaskier/OC - Freeform, Maudlin Nonsense, No Beta, No Smut, Past Geralt/Jaskier, Post 1x06, Roach is team Jaskier, Sort Of, Why am I writing Gen?, blanket permission to podfic, but this is mostly Gen, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assthorn/pseuds/Assthorn
Summary: Jaskier went back inside and eyed the horse speculatively. Roach stared back at him, swishing her tail.“Yeah, you’re right. I can’t just steal a man’s horse because he…” Jaskier trailed off, unwilling to say the words aloud.Roach stamped and nickered, and Jaskier went back into her stall. He found her brushes and got to work.“But, if I were to say, borrow his horse, it would ensure a clean getaway. I would be honouring his wishes, ensuring that we didn’t cross paths again. Either that or he’ll track me down and be forced to apologize. It’s win-win, really.”-After the Mountain Breakup Jaskier is heartbroken enough that stealing Roach and taking himself to the coast seems like a good idea.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Series: It's Not Fair [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804354
Comments: 85
Kudos: 398
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A loose sequel to That Unwanted Animal. The only thing you need to know is that Jaskier and Geralt were in a sexual, semi-romantic relationship prior to the Mountain Breakup, and that Jaskier wrote Fair (Actually by The Amazing Devil) about Geralt. 
> 
> Inspired by these tumblr prompts:  
> https://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/190793329473/witcher-by-association-monster-hunter-by-osmosis  
> https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/maybemorrigan/618686544250814464 
> 
> Lyrics throughout are from Fair and Farewell Wanderlust, both by The Amazing Devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mumpsimus: a stubborn person who insists on making an error in spite of being shown that it is wrong.

_Jaskier_

“If life could give me one blessing,” The words echoed in his head as Jaskier scrambled down the mountain. With luck, he could get down and away before having to face that asshole.

It’s not like Jaskier had never helped Geralt. Oh, no, of course not. Geralt picked monster guts out of his own hair, cooked his own meat instead of eating it raw, rubbed camomile on his own bloody bottom.

Jaskier continued the inner monologue, grousing and complaining to himself so that he wouldn’t dwell on just how much he _hurt_. This was worse than that time Geralt had sucker-punched him, worse than when the elves beat him with his own lute. So if he could just stay angry, maybe he could avoid feeling heartbroken.

That strategy worked until at long last he made it to the inn at the base of the mountain. The inn-keeper remembered Jaskier from before and pressed him for details, but Jaskier was hungry, exhausted and sore. He was also almost out of coin and could hardly bear the prospect of performing tonight, but if he didn’t he’d be sleeping in the stable with Roach.

Roach. He should check on Roach. It wasn’t her fault her master was a crabby, mumpsimus bastard.

Jaskier waved off the curious in-keeper and slouched to the stable, where Roach nickered in greeting.

“Hello, girl,” Jaskier murmured, stroking her nose when he reached her stall. “I’m sorry I don’t have any treats for you, darling. Would you let me rest here a while? Maybe after a nap I can go earn us some supper, yeah?”

Roach didn’t reply, but she did move out of the way when Jaskier entered the box stall. An unusual luxury for a backwater inn, but he’d take it. Jaskier fluffed up the hay in the cleanest corner and propped himself against the wall for a snooze.

It was hours later when Jaskier woke to darkness and quiet; not a peep could be heard from the direction of the inn. Standing and stretching- he was too old to be sleeping anywhere besides a bed- Jaskier picked his way to the stable door and peered out. The horizon was just starting to pink, as if the sun was as reluctant to rise as he.

Jaskier stood miserably at the door. Geralt would be waking up now, probably preparing to head down the final stretch of the mountain. Jaskier had moved as quickly as he could, but he knew Geralt travelled faster and with fewer breaks so any head start Jaskier had gained would be meager. If he left now he might be able to avoid seeing Geralt on the road, though that was unlikely since Geralt with have Roach.

Jaskier went back inside and eyed the horse speculatively. Roach stared back at him, swishing her tail.

“Yeah, you’re right. I can’t just steal a man’s horse because he…” Jaskier trailed off, unwilling to say the words aloud.

Roach stamped and nickered, and Jaskier went back into her stall. He found her brushes and got to work.

“But, if I were to say, borrow his horse, it would ensure a clean getaway. I would be honouring his wishes, ensuring that we didn’t cross paths again. Either that or he’ll track me down and be forced to apologize. It’s win-win, really.”

Roach rubbed her head against Jaskier’s shoulder and he took that as encouragement. He tacked her up quickly, grumbling about how Geralt never even seemed to notice, let alone thank, Jaskier for helping with the task all those times when they travelled together.

The sun was halfway up by the time Jaskier mounted Roach and road away.

By midmorning Jaskier remembered why he usually preferred to walk. It’s not that he didn’t know how to ride, of course he did. He just wasn’t particularly good at it and was out of practice and gods, his ass was sore. Maybe if he just walked for a little while…

“I hope we reach a town tonight,” Jaskier said to Roach when he could no longer stand the silence. “I am positively famished. I wish I could just eat grass like you. But, alas, I need human food. And some ale. At the next town I’ll sing a few songs, get enough for some food. We can sleep outside. Ger- your old master has the tent, but I have my bedroll. We don’t need much coin, then, just enough to feed me. If I avoid singing it’ll be harder for him to find us. No one will pay attention to a quiet traveller stopping in for a quick meal. I can pretend not to be a bard, just for a little while. Can you pretend to be a normal horse and not a fearsome war machine? Hmm? I bet you can do it for me.”

Roach sighed, flicking her ears.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Jaskier stopped the horse and swung reluctantly into the saddle. “Let’s go, dear.”

Jaskier allowed Roach to choose the pace and she settled into a slow trot. Jaskier tried his best to move with the horse, rather than bounce around on her back, and resigned himself to having a bruised buttocks for the foreseeable future.

_Geralt_

“JASKIER!” Geralt roared when he found Roach’s stall empty. Her tack was gone as well, and the horse’s scent was old. She hasn’t been here for at least a day, maybe longer.

Geralt stomped into the inn and grabbed the barman. “Where is my horse?!” He demanded.

“I… uh…” he stammered and Geralt gave him a little shake. “I keep the bar, that’s it. You wanna talk to the stable boy. If he’s not tending the horses he’ll be napping in the loft, lazy git…”

Geralt dropped the man and stomped back to the stable. The boy was in fact in the loft, though he appeared to be hiding rather than sleeping.

“When the bard came back alone and with nothing to show for it we assumed the dragon killed you all,” the cowering boy cried once Geralt had cornered him. “And I knew he arrived with you and the horse, so I didn’t challenge him when he took her.”

“Jaskier _took_ my horse?” Geralt snarled at the confirmation of his suspicions. “Are you sure it was him and not someone else?”

The boy nodded and wiped snot and tears from his face. “I swear, I swear, it was the bard. He-he was talking to the horse. Asking her if he could steal her. He-he said you were a…” the boy trailed off, thinking better of repeated Jaskier’s various insults.

Fuck.

Geralt leapt down from the loft and headed outside. Tracking Roach and Jaskier was easy enough, but he would be hard-pressed to catch up to them unless Jaskier travelled incredibly slowly. Geralt himself wouldn’t be moving very quickly since he would have to carry all his gear himself, in addition to travelling on foot. It’s not like there were any strong horses for sale in this Podunk town, not that Geralt had the coin for one anyway. Jaskier and his minimal possessions would weigh half as must as Geralt, his armour and his things. Roach would positively _fly_ with so little dragging her down.

Roach. The traitor. What kind of self-respecting Witcher’s horse would just allow some dandy to jump on her and ride off? The kind of horse who had spent years being spoiled rotten by said dandy, Geralt knew. It was his fault for letting Jaskier spoil her, his fault for letting the bard travel with him for so long. His fault for saying-

No, no sense on dwelling on it now. He would get his horse back and be on his way. Jaskier had brought the harsh words on himself. It had nothing to do with Geralt’s emotional constipation, his inability to handle conflicts with anything besides violence. It was Jaskier’s fault Geralt had even met Yennefer in the first place. Geralt would never have made that wish, never have been wounded by Yen’s words and turned that pain onto the _very deserving_ bard.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 1: The Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier arrives at the Coast

_Jaskier_

Jaskier gave his last coin to the stable boy and entered the only inn in the town of Jarowiec. True to his word, Jaskier had kept his performances to a minimum. But tonight would be different. Yes, he was bone-tired, but he was finally on the coast. Maybe he would stay here while he waited for Geralt to catch up. If he caught up. Did Jaskier even want to be caught anymore?

“Hello, love,” Jaskier turned on the charm as he leaned on the bar to speak with the maid behind it. “I’m Ja-Julian, the bard. If I were to play tonight, might I get a meal and a drink in exchange? A room, if you’re feeling generous?”

The maid, a pretty young woman with green eyes and red hair pulled back into a severe braid, chuckled. “A room? Good luck with that. As for the rest, I’ll hear you play first.”

“That’s fair,” Jaskier agreed, swinging his lute off his back to check the tuning. A few patrons looked in his direction curiously.

Jaskier mentally ran through his repertoire, selecting and discarding songs that would be appropriate for this crowd. Sea shanties, certainly. Maybe some bawdies, for later in the evening. “Any requests?” he asked the maid.

“Do you know _Fair_?” She replied, naming the love song Jaskier had written about Geralt before- before…

“No, sorry.” He couldn’t bear to even think of that song, let along play it. He’d already lied about his identity, why not lie about this too?

“Hmph. I thought everyone knew that song. You at least know of it? Play something like it.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jaskier winked, struggling to slip back into his cheerful, flirty persona. He played a traditional ballad and by the end of it he was in performance mode. He wouldn’t normally start with something so sweet, but the barmaid seemed to appreciate it and it was always a good idea to suck up to the staff of the establishment in which he wished to perform.

His next song was more of a jig, another traditional that had a few people humming along and tapping their toes.

Jaskier sang and played, doing his best to read the crowd and give them what they wanted. By the time he was finished he didn’t need to ask the barmaid for free refreshments, for some of the patrons bought him drinks and vittles. He also got a decent amount of coin, enough for a night at the inn, anyway.

When Jaskier finally managed to extricate himself from his new friends he sidled back up to the bar. “About that room love…”

“You don’t want to stay here,” the barmaid said, “It’s filthy. There are rats. My grandmother has a spare room she lets out sometimes, I could take you.”

Jaskier assessed the girl. She was pretty, small and soft and young enough she still had that light in her eyes that tended to get stomped out as one aged. On another night, maybe, but he was feeling too tired and heart-sore for a tumble. He studied her face and concluded, with some surprise, that she wasn’t flirting. She was just being friendly and gods, it felt good. “Yes, please.”

“Give me half an hour,” she said, taking Jaskier’s tankard, filling it, and sliding it back. “Once everyone clears out we can go.

Jaskier nodded and sat at the bar, nursing his drink and resisting the urge to lay his head on the table. Travelling was bad enough with Geralt, when there was someone to talk to and reasons to make frequent stops in towns. But Jaskier’s flight from the Dragon Mountains had pushed him to the limit. He was close to asking again for a room, rats or no, when the barmaid nudged him.

“Everyone’s gone,” she said quietly as he roused. “Let’s go. It’s about an hour’s walk.”

“I have a horse,” Jaskier said, sliding off of the stool to trail after the barmaid as she extinguished the candles and left the inn, locking the door behind her.

Jaskier felt bad about waking Roach, but she was used to it and didn’t even object when Jaskier helped the barmaid onto her back behind Jaskier.

“What’s your name, love?” Jaskier asked, urging Roach into a brisk trot that quickly covered the distance.

“Turn left here- My name is Ysmay. Suppose I should have mentioned that before inviting you home,” she laughed and Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

“Do this often, do you?” Jaskier teased.

“Only when there are interesting travellers looking for lodging. How long are you planning to stay?”

“Don’t know,” what little joviality that had worked its way through Jaskier fled. “Maybe a while. I’ve always liked the ocean. I’ve been travelling for a long time, it would be nice to rest my feet.”

“How long?” Ysmay asked, leaning a little against Jaskier. He appreciated her warmth and softness on his back. His riding had improved during his flight, so he no longer bounced and jostled. Ysmay, on the other hand, did not seem to be accustomed to riding.

“Twenty years, give or take,” Jaskier grimaced.

“That’s- wow. You must have gone _everywhere_.”

“Just about.”

“Have you been to court?”

“Yes. I was… fairly well-known.” He didn’t want to brag, but he didn’t want to lie, not outright. Telling the truth was simpler, he would just make some edits.

“You were well-known enough to play in court, but you don’t know the most popular songs? What about Toss A Coin? Surely you know that one?”

“Of course I know that one,” Jaskier carefully kept the irritation from his voice. “Doesn’t mean I want to play it.”

“What’s your favourite song, then?”

Jaskier sighed. Is this what it had been like for Geralt? Jaskier just wanted to stew in his grief and decide what to do next, not answer endless questions that prodded his sore places.

“I’m sorry, Ysmay, I don’t want to be rude but I am exhausted. I will be much better company after I’ve slept.”

“Oh,” she sounded a little hurt but didn’t say anything else other than to direct Jaskier towards the cottage.

They arrived after what felt like an eternity. Roach had had to slow shortly after they left town so she wouldn’t twist an ankle in the dark. The cottage, too, was dark, but Ysmay jumped off Roach and rushed inside, returning quickly with a lantern and lead Jaskier to the small barn behind the cottage.

“We have hay and a little grain,” Ysmay said while Jaskier untacked Roach and quickly brushed her down. Jaskier collected the hay and a handful of grain. Roach deserved more than that, but he didn’t want to be rude by taking too much. “Where do you get your water?” He asked, picking up the bucket from Roach’s narrow stall.

“This way,” Ysmay lead him to the well, setting down the candle and drawing the water for Jaskier.

“Thank you,” He said, touched that she would do the chore for him. He carried the bucket back, though, because he was still a gentleman.

Satisfied with Roach’s care, Jaskier trudged back to the cottage.

“Grandmother is asleep, I’ll introduce you in the morning.”

“Won’t your grandmother be, err… surprised to wake up with a strange man in her home?” Jaskier asked, pausing outside the door. “I could sleep in the barn…”

“You can if you want,” Ysmay shrugged. “But I don’t think she’ll mind. She’ll be glad for the extra coin, more so if it comes with a song.”

Jaskier, who wanted nothing but a real bed, nodded his assent and the pair tiptoed inside. Ysmay gave Jaskier the lantern and gestured towards one of the two doors in the small cabin. She took up a candle, lighting it on the faintly glowing hearth, and went through the other.

Jaskier entered the room, dropped his things and flopped gratefully onto the bed. He kicked off his boots, doublet and trousers before snuffing the lantern and passing out.

***

Jaskier woke to soft voices and cooking sounds.

“…he sang very sweetly, anyway. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“No, I don’t mind. But you really shouldn’t be riding with strange men in the middle of the night.”

“Grandmother,” Ysmay sighed. “You worry too much.”

“I worry enough,” the elderly woman retorted.

“Should I wake him for breakfast?”

“Let him sleep. We’ll leave a plate out for him.”

As tempting as it was to doze off again, Jaskier reluctantly got up and surveyed the room. His stomach twisted. This was no spare room- it was full of _things,_ things a young woman might need or want. Underclothes were tossed on the dresser along with a hairbrush and comb. Ribbons and knickknacks dotted the available surfaces, including a soft doll squished into the corner where the bed met the wall.

Jaskier dressed quickly and stepped out. “Good morning, ladies,” he said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. It wasn’t much.

“Morning,” Ysmay replied brightly. “Grandmother, this is Julian. He’s a bard. Julian, this is my grandmother, Margo.”

“Good morning,” Margo said, examining Jaskier from top to toe. “Sit. Have some breakfast.”

Jaskier did as he was told and was treated to a couple of apple fritters and cup of watered mead. “This is delicious!” Jaskier exclaimed, around his first mouthful. “I would have counted myself lucky with a crust of bread. Thank you, ever so.” He wolfed down the rest of his meal in record time and slouched on the bench.

“How long are you planning to stay, bard?” Margo asked, a touch of amusement wrinkling the corners of her eyes.

“With cooking like this I want to stay forever,” Jaskier said wistfully, looking at his empty plate before opening his coin purse, sighing and passing it to Margo. It might have bought him a night at the rat-infested inn, but it was insultingly low for here.

Margo glanced inside the purse and weighed it with her hand. “Sing me a song. Your best one.”

Jaskier cleared his throat. He thought _Fair_ was his best work, but he couldn’t sing that so he settled on his favourite traditional ballad. It was a long song, full of action and adventure and romance.

“Hm,” Margo placed another fritter on Jaskier’s plate. “Finish this, then sing to me while I work.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Jaskier ate his second slice quickly and downed the rest of his mead. He stood, collecting the dishes and quickly located the basin in the small kitchen, pouring some warm water from the kettle into it.

He heard a hum of surprise that could have come from either woman, but they left him to it while they braided each other's hair.

“I’ll be in the garden, Julian. Come out when you’ve finished,” Margo said as she left.

Jaskier set out the last of the dishes to dry, then turned to face Ysmay, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“You’re wearing silks and have a fine horse. And you do the dishes like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

“I know how to take care of myself and the people around me.” Jaskier shrugged. “The costume is an important part of an entertainer’s image, and the horse… was a gift.”

“Someone must really like you.”

Jaskier’s heart gave a squeeze at that, but he ignored it. “You said I could have the spare room. But I couldn’t help but noticing the room looks like it’s in use. By you, I’m guessing.”

Ysmay shrugged. “I sleep there when we don’t have a lodger. I don’t mind sharing with Grandmother; in the winter we usually share a bed anyway to keep warm.”

“I…”

“Stay. Sing Grandmother some songs. I’ll clear out my things. Are you going to perform again tonight? There’s one other tavern in town.”

“I guess I’d better, if I want to stay here.”

“If you want to stay here you’d better get to work,” Ysmay nodded in the direction of the door.

Jaskier collected his lute and headed outside.

In the light of day the property was positively charming. Vines and moss climbed the walls of the small stone cottage, which was surrounded by an enormous garden. Beehives lined the property on one side, while guinea fowl and ducks meandered, eating bugs and pests.

Jaskier spotted Margo, who was wearing a brown apron over her simple grey dress. She had a large, straw hat on her head and a digging stick in her hand. He headed over, checking the tuning on his lute as he went.

“That’s a beautiful instrument,” Margo nodded at the lute when Jaskier was a couple of yards away.

“Yes it was a gift from- it was a gift.” Jaskier winced. He would have to find a new line. At least this time it was the truth.

“Is that so? Well, play a song then go tend to your horse. Do you know how to milk a goat?”

“I do not, but I am eager to learn.”

Margo chuckled. “Ysmay will show you, when you’re through with your horse.”

Jaskier played a couple of ditties, then went to tend Roach. Ysmay showed him to a paddock with crumbling fences and asked if it would do.

“Its fine,” Jaskier assured her. “Roach will not wander far. She’s a good horse.” Perhaps he could make himself useful by fixing the fences, Jaskier thought. He wasn’t particularly handy with carpentry, but he was sure he could manage to weave some sticks together to repair the simple wattle fence.

“And the goats? Your grandmother volunteered me to help you.”

Ysmay eyed his silks sceptically, but lead him to the much more secure goat pasture. Ysmay deftly caught a goat by the collar and half dragged it over to the milking bench and once it was secured she sat down, quickly demonstrating what to do and explaining how to do it. Jaskier took her place and carefully gripped the goat’s teats, tugging experimentally.

“She’s not your lover,” Ysmay scoffed. “You’ll need to grip harder than that.”

Jaskier winced, but did as he was told. His hands were strong and nimble, and it didn’t take him long to fall into a rhythm. After a while he looked up to see Ysmay halfway up the tree in the centre of the goat pasture. What was she…? She grabbed at something and pulled, and Yaskier finally spotted the goat, who bleated grumpily as it was half-dragged down the tree.

Ymsay hauled the goat towards Jaskier, who redoubled his efforts on the current, much more agreeable goat. When she reached Jaskier she watched him work, head tilted. “You catch on quickly.”

Jaskier glanced up, winked and got back to work. After a minute he said “I think she’s dry.”

“Let me check. Hold her,” Ysmay gestured at the troublesome goat. Jaskier and Ysmay changed places. She was able to coax a few more drops of milk from the goat before she released it. Jaskier did his best to drag his cranky goat onto the bench, but it was squirmy and surprisingly strong. In the end, Ysmay had to manhandle the animal onto the bench before settling in to milk her.

“So who gave you the horse?” Ysmay asked after a few moments.

“A… friend.” Jaskier nearly choked on the word.

Ysmay quirked an eyebrow. “A friend, hm? Did she spurn you, by any chance?”

“You are very perceptive.” Jaskier sighed, studying his nails instead of rudely leaving like he wanted to do.

“Will this friend of yours be coming around looking for her horse?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t know. If they do I can handle it, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Ysmay looked up at him from under her lashes in that coquettish way that Jaskier knew so well. “Her loss.”

Jaskier fidgeted some more, uncomfortable. For perhaps the first time in his life he didn’t want to flirt.

“I’m almost done here,” Ysmay said, tipping her head in Margo’s direction. “Go make yourself useful.”

With a relieved sigh, Jaskier left the goat pen and picked his way back to Margo. She glanced up at him but didn’t speak, and he plucked away at his lute until he settled on a song. He stood and played and sang while Margo worked. At one point she was trying to pull a particularly stubborn carrot without success.

“Allow me,” Jaskier set down his lute and Margo stood, a bemused look on her tanned face.

Jaskier grasped the plant and pulled. It didn’t budge so he pulled harder, and harder still. He threw his weight into it and it gave, sending him backwards onto his ass.

Margo snorted. Jaskier waved the enormous carrot at her, “At your service,” He said grinning.

“You’ll ruin your clothes, bard.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Jaskier shrugged, standing and brushing himself off. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“We need to pull this row, at the very least. I also need to check for weeds.”

“Right, then, let me put my girl away,” Jaskier sprinted back to the cottage to stow his lute. At the last minute, he shrugged off his doublet too.

Margo didn’t say anything about his change of outfit, and he got to work.


	3. Chapter 2: Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Raven finds Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Fair by The Amazing Devil

_Jaskier_

“Sing the one about the White Wolf!”

“No, the sorceress!”

“I’m sorry, friends, but I haven’t studied that bard’s work,” It wasn’t really a lie. What kind of a wanker studies the songs he wrote? “Fishmonger’s daughter?” He asked instead and got pelted with heels of stale bread for his efforts.

It almost made him nostalgic. He glanced as Ysmay, who looked bemused. No help there.

“Fine then,” Jaskier muttered, and began the bawdiest song he knew. That turned the crowd around, and soon they were having fun, at least. Most of them had already heard him play twice, so he wasn’t making much in the way of coin. But then again, Margo hadn’t been taking much- ostensibly because he was doing so much work on the property.

Still, it was nice to perform. Truth be told, Jaskier would do it for free if his needs were met, which they currently were.

The evening drew to a close before the sun had entirely set. They were well into the harvest and everyone had an early morning. Jaskier helped Ysmay clean and lock up, then fetched Roach. They rode double on Roach to make better time and give the mare some exercise; she was growing fat and lazy with nothing to do but stand about and eat grass.

“I’m thinking about heading to Oxenfurt for a few days,” Jaskier said as the rode, enjoying Ysmay’s soft warmth at his back.

Ysmay was quiet, but she had stiffened against him.

“I will come back, if you want me. But I need new boots and some work clothes if I’m going to become a farm lad. I can’t make enough coin here to buy that and I can pick up anything else you and Margo need while I’m there. With Roach the journey should only take a day or two each way, and I’ll stay a week at most.”

“Grandmother was counting on you to help bring in the harvest. She would never say it, but you’ve been… she can’t do as much as she used to. And I… I want you to stay.”

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder, giving Ysmay an affectionate look. “I know, love. I’ll wait until the hard work is done.”

“The hard work is never done,” she whined. “Once all the fruit and honey and herbs are in we still need to process everything. Tie it into bundles and dry it and make mead and candles and jam and cheese. We need to dry the peas and any berries we don’t make into jam or mead. _Then_ we need to haul the extra to the market to sell so we can buy grain and hay for the animals over winter… it never ends, Julian. But having you here makes it better,” she paused, perhaps gathering her courage to forge ahead, “not just because you work, but your songs and your jokes and… you.” Ysmay leaned back in against him, hugging him tight.

Jaskier didn’t know what to say. He’d figured out early on that Ysmay liked him, but he hadn’t expected it to be much beyond fondness. She was half his age, after all, and he had been careful not to flirt. Not much, anyway.

Jaskier squeezed her hand. “I will help with as much as I can, but surely we can find a fortnight that you can spare me? You managed without me before. And I will come back with coin and presents.”

“What kind of presents?” her tone was a little sulky, but it didn’t cover her sudden interest.

Jaskier smiled. “What would you like? Ribbons for your hair? Perfumes? Oils?”

“Hrmph,” she huffed, but sounded pleased.

“You give me a list of what you and Margo need, and I will do my best to bring it back for you.”

“Fine,” Ysmay relented. “I wish I could go with you, but I can’t be spared for that long.”

“I know, love. Next time, maybe.”

***

The next morning Jaskier broached the subject of his trip to Margo while they worked side-by-side in the garden.

“That’s a good idea,” she mused, “I have some herbs you can sell to an apothecary there. And you certainly need better clothes.”

Jaskier chortled at the thought that rough linen and wool would be “better” than his fine silks, but he knew what she meant. “Ysmay said I should wait until after the harvest.”

“Ysmay is sentimental, and enjoying her free time with you doing half her work.”

“Grandmother, I do nowhere near half her work! That girl of yours is a powerhouse and a city boy like myself could not hope to match her.”

Margo’s face was warm. It wasn’t the first time Jaskier had called her “grandmother,” nor the first time he had admired Ysmay’s strength.

“She’s not actually mine,” Margo said quietly, looking up at Jaskier. “I never married; I never bore children. Ysmay was a foundling that I took in.”

Jaskier looked up at her in surprise. “That doesn’t make her any less yours,” he said softly. “Does she know?”

“I think she must,” Margo replied before standing to brush off her clothes and pick up her basket. They both turned to watch Ysmay standing at the edge of the property. Her eyes were fixed on something in the weeds beyond and she slowly reached for her belt, removing a leather strap. As Jaskier watched curiously, Ysmay swiftly twirled the strap- a sling, Jaskier realized – above her head, letting loose a stone. She whooped in victory and rushed forward, emerging with a rabbit.

Jaskier cheered and hurried to meet Ysmay, taking the fat, furry rabbit. “Allow me. I know I’m not very useful in the kitchen, but I can clean and dress small game with the best of them.”

“Clean it,” Ysmay agreed, “But don’t try to cook it. I don’t want you ruining perfectly good meat.”

“As you wish,” Jaskier bowed with a flourish and Ysmay giggled, her cheeks going pink.

Okay, maybe Jaskier was flirting a little. He could hardly help it; it was a habit as much as a personality trait. When he flirted people liked him. When people like him, they’re more generous, whether with coin, meals or company.

The thought of “company” made Jaskier’s guts twist. He had been doing his best to ignore thoughts of Geralt. The physical labour of a day working with Margo and Ysmay helped, but the act of preparing the rabbit was second nature and his mind wandered.

He _missed_ Geralt. He was no longer furious with the witcher, but any thought of the man still hurt. He understood why Geralt lashed out at him- violence was the only way Geralt knew how to cope with any kind of conflict, including emotional. He had gotten somewhat better at dealing with his feelings during Jaskier’s tenure as his bard and lover, but it was a long and slow process. However, knowing the reason behind Geralt's behaviour did not erase the pain of it.

Jaskier had just set aside the cleaned rabbit when he was interrupted by a flurry of black feathers and the noise of beating wings.

“Fuck,” Jaskier threw up his hands to protect his head, but as quickly as the chaos started it was quiet again. Jaskier peeked out from behind his fingers to see a raven standing on the table front of him, looking at him judgementally. The raven turned, presenting its leg to Jaskier. He carefully leaned forward and opened the small tube attached to the raven’s leg and drew out the parchment.

 _Cintra is under attack. I’m claiming my surprise. Take care of Roach until I can find you_.

“Fuck,” Jaskier repeated, bringing one hand to massage his temples. He looked up and noticed two things. The raven had already disappeared- strangely sneaky considering how loudly it had showed up. Second, Margo and Ysmay both stood frozen in the doorway.

“What was that?” Ysmay demanded.

“A raven,” Jaskier replied, intentionally obtuse.

“Why?”

“To bring me a message,” Maybe if he acted stupid enough Ysmay would drop it.

Ysmay strode forward and grabbed the message out of Jaskier’s hands, scanning it quickly. “Your ex is a sorceress?” She demanded.

“No,” Jaskier sat down heavily at the table, head in his hands. “Just fucking one, probably.” Logically, Jaskier knew that you could hire any two-bit mage to send a raven, but jealousy and insecurity informed Jaskier that the raven had most likely been Yennefer’s doing.

Margo had read the message while Jaskier sulked and tried to figure out where to even start with the new information. Cintra was under attack- objectively that was the most important part, or maybe the bit about the Surprise. But Jaskier couldn’t help but fixate on the last part _Take care of Roach until I can find you_. So Geralt hadn’t forgotten about him. He probably had been looking for Jaskier until he got side-tracked by Destiny.

“Julian, who is this from?” Margo asked quietly. Jaskier looked up to find her sitting across the table from him.

“Ysmay got it right,” he mumbled.

“You know what I mean,” this time Margo’s voice had an edge to it.

“He’s a-”

“ _He?_ ” Ysmay, who had been pacing around the table, squawked.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed.

“So he wasn’t really your lover? You lied?” Now she sounded hurt.

“No, he was my lover. He spurned me. I never lied to you, just never corrected your assumptions it was a woman.” Jaskier shifted uncomfortably. Guess he wouldn’t be returning here after his trip to Oxenfurt after all.

“Huh,” Ysmay had paused her pacing. She looked less angry and more flustered. “I didn’t know anyone actually… did that.”

Jaskier shrugged helplessly. At least if she got hung up on Geralt’s gender he could maybe avoid having to divulge any other details.

“This man have a name?” Margo asked.

Gods.

“Geralt… of Rivia.”

Even Margo’s eyes went wide at that.

“Wait a second…” Ysmay snapped back into action. Her agitation was clear as she prepared the rabbit and accompanying vegetables. Even angry, she still carried out the necessary chore of cooking. “You’re a bard. You were… _lovers_ with the White Wolf? You’re _Jaskier?!_ You did lie!”

“My birth name is Julian,” Jaskier rushed. “I didn’t really want Geralt tracking me down after I stole his horse-”

“ _You stole a witcher’s horse?!”_

“-The only thing I lied about was not knowing the songs. But they were about him and I couldn’t bear to sing them.” Jaskier looked miserably down at his hands.

“So you’re saying that if you stay here a Witcher is going to show up. A Witcher who doesn’t like you much and wants his horse back? Is that right?” Ysmay demanded.

Jaskier sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave. Maybe stay in Oxenfurt. You won’t have to worry about it.”

Margo’s hand snaked across the table to hold Jaskier’s. “Ysmay, leave the poor man alone.”

“Grandmother!”

“It sounds like the Witcher is distracted with other matters, and everyone knows they winter in the mountains. I don’t think we have to worry about him for the time being.”

Ysmay fumed, slamming out of the cottage.

“You have some explaining to do,” she said quietly and Jaskier nodded, though he wasn’t really sure what else there was to say. “Why is Cintra important? And what is his Surprise? A child?”

“I would tell you, Grandmother, but it’s probably safer for you to not know,” Jaskier replied glumly.

“Hrmph,” Margo replied, clearly unimpressed. “Fine. But you will tell me why you parted.”

“Because… he was angry. He turned it on me and said hurtful things. Said he wanted nothing more than to be free of my company. So I left. We were… on a hunt, of sorts, and I arrived back at the inn before him and I was hurt and wanted to get as far away as fast as possible so I borrowed his horse. I thought that maybe he would come after me, find me in a few days and apologize. But I rode hard and stopped performing, started going by a different name. I didn’t give him much of a trail to follow, so I don’t think I really wanted him to find me. I’m still not sure that I want to see him again.” By the time Jaskier finished his voice was tight and several tears had tracked down his face.

“I didn’t tell you because… well, he’s a man, and a Witcher, and I know what people say about them. I know what people say about men who lay together and I wanted you to like me.” He didn’t dare look up, even when Margo gave his hand a squeeze.

“I like you,” Margo said, quiet, reassuring. “It’s not your fault you fell in love with a brute who didn’t appreciate it.”

Jaskier couldn’t contain the sob that rose in his throat.

A bench scraped and Margo came around the table to sit at Jaskier’s side. She collected him in her arms, hugging him and rocking him slightly. “There, there, child. You’re safe here.”

“But Ysmay…”

“Ysmay is upset. She wants you for herself and she feels rejected. I will speak to her and she will understand.”

“Gods,” Jaskier groaned, burying his face into Margo’s dress. “I tried not to lead her on, I swear. She’s lovely and under different circumstances… but I can’t, not now. Now when I still hurt so much.” His voice cracked on the word _hurt_ and fresh tears bubbled up.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Margo soothed. “Well, except perhaps steal his horse. But it sounds like he deserved it.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly.

“Do you still want us to call you Julian?”

Jaskier considered it for a moment. “In public, yes. I don’t know what’s going on in Cintra, but if my suspicions are correct it might not be safe for Geralt’s… associates. But in private call me whatever you like.”

“Hmm,” Margo stroked Jaskier’s hair and held him.

As he calmed down, Jaskier started to feel a little awkward and reluctantly pulled out of Margo’s embrace. “Thank you,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster.

“You’re welcome,” Margo replied. “Go fetch some greens from the garden. It’s almost lunch and I fancy a salad."

Jaskier rose to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face and went out to the garden. He had learned where most of the edible plants were, and how to harvest them so he returned quickly with parsley, spinach and dandelions- the greens in his hands, a flower tucked behind his ear. He deposited them on the counter and chopped them. When he was through Margo shouldered him out of the way to add nuts and goat cheese and mix up a dressing. She made up three plates and sat them on the table, but didn’t go to call Ysmay.

They ate quietly and when they were finished Margo asked Jaskier to clean up, and then check over the apples and pears stored in the loft. He appreciated the chance to be by himself, knowing that the newly picked fruit didn’t really need tending since there has not been enough time for any of them to have started rotting.

Still, he sat in the loft and for the first time since his flight from the Dragon Mountains, allowed himself to really think about what he wanted in regards to Geralt. Cottage life was proving to be surprisingly agreeable, even if it was hard work. He liked, maybe even loved, Margo and Ysmay and he wanted to stay- for the winter, at the very least. He could eat well and sleep comfortably. Maybe, in time, he could fall in love with Ysmay. They could marry and have children and do all the things people were supposed to.

Or he could wait for Geralt to find him and accept whatever pathetic apology the witcher could offer. He would join Geralt on the path and in bed. He would travel and get cold and wet and hungry and stay by the man he loved until his body could no longer tolerate the days of hard travel and nights spent on hard ground. He would play for new audiences almost every night and write his adventures into songs that would spread across the continent. He would get more time with his greatest love and flaunt society’s expectation of what a nobly born man should do with his life.

Ten years ago, or even five, it would have been no contest. But Jaskier was getting old. He didn’t want to sleep on the ground or deal with Geralt’s anger and baggage. He wanted to deal with Geralt’s softness and kindness and, yes, his glorious cock. But Jaskier wasn’t sure if the good still outweighed the bad. Perhaps a comparatively boring, but more comfortable life is what he needed.

And yet…

“ _It’s what my heart just yearns to say  
In ways that can’t be said  
It’s what my rotting bones will sing  
When the rest of me is dead”_

Jaskier found himself singing the song he had written for and about Geralt, all those years ago. His voice cracked and tears slid down his cheeks, but it was cathartic. He belted out the words, imperfect and full of pain and love, lowering his voice to a whisper when it came to the chorus:

_“It’s not fair, it’s not fair how much I love you  
It’s not fair  
‘Cause you make me laugh when I’m actually   
Really fucking cross at you for something…”_

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the song. Instead, he sighed gustily and climbed out of the loft, coming face to face with Ysmay.

“That song was for him?”

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed, looking at his feet.

“He’s an idiot,” Ysmay spat. “If he dares to show his face around here I’ll kick his ass and send him on his way.”

Jaskier looked up sharply and couldn’t help but snicker.

“I’m sorry,” Ysmay continued. “I was just surprised. I didn’t know, I don’t know… Damn it,” Ysmay threw herself in Jaskier’s arms, hugging him tight and pressing her face into his chest. “I want you to stay,” She said. “Please stay.”

“Okay,” Jaskier found himself saying, hugging Ysmay back. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 3: Oxenfurt

_Jaskier_

  
Jaskier arrived in Oxenfurt after an uneventful trip. The city was much as he remembered it, and there was a comfort in that. Jaskier headed straight to his favourite inn, The Three Little Bells, where he was greeted enthusiastically. 

“Jaskier!” The innkeeper, a short, plump woman came from around the bar to greet him. “It’s been too long! Come in, come in. Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please. Good to see you, Mariam.” He had already decided he would go by Jaskier in the city; enough people knew him that it would be pointless to try to hide his identity. Besides, Jaskier: Bard of the White Wolf could make a lot more money than Julian the Nobody. The woman grinned and called for the barmaid.

“Please tell me you’re here to sing?”

“As I live and breathe,” Jaskier agreed, nodding his thanks to the maid who sat a tankard in front of him. He took a sip and tried not to frown at the bitter beer; he had become accustomed to sweet mead.

“Might you have a room for me, my friend?”

“I might,” Mariam replied. “But you’re famous now, bard. I might have to charge you.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said jovially. “Only let me perform first. These last few weeks have not been lucrative, so I’ll have to work a little to get the coin.”

Mariam gave him a slanting look. “I have trouble believing that,” she said. “It was only yesterday I heard a pair of bards grumbling they didn’t make any coin unless they sang your songs.”

“That’s the thing,” Jaskier breezed, hoping to glide past this conversation. “I have found myself tired of my own songs, if you can believe it, so I was trying to make a go of it with only traditionals. It did not work.”

“Hmph,” Mariam crossed her arms. “You’re not going to try that tonight, are you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of sullying the reputation of this fine establishment with a substandard performance. Might I have a crust of bread or vegetable peels to boost my strength? Then I will sing until dawn, if it pleases you.”

“Careful, you might get what you ask for,” Mariam got to her feet. She returned shortly with a small bowl of stew and a large chunk of bread. Jaskier smiled his thanks and ate slowly. The food was good- not as good as Margo and Ysmay’s cooking, of course, but one could not possibly complain about that. He lingered over his beer to give himself a chance to rest, before climbing to his feet.

One of the things he loved about the Three Little Bells was the small dais in the centre of the room. He didn’t have to contend with rickety tables if he wanted to boost himself above the crowd. He took to the dais and made a show of tuning his lute before beginning with an energetic jig. It was a traditional song, but no one could help tapping their feet or clapping along. It was a good first song; attention-grabbing. After that he started on his own compositions, choosing the exciting adventures over maudlin romance. 

Luckily for his tired bones, Mariam did not require him to play until dawn. The patrons started to drift out shortly after midnight and soon after that Mariam signaled him to wrap it up. He ended with _Toss a coin_ , even though part of him wanted to change coin to egg. He was a professional, though, and sang it with the same cheer and enthusiasm as he always did.

He received enough tips to pay Mariam for a room, though she told him the food was on the house. He gathered his things to trudge upstairs and deposit them in his room before turning around and going to the stable to get the few items he had left with Roach’s tack.

With all his possessions in place, Jaskier tugged off his clothes and flopped into bed. He fell asleep within minutes; even the high of performing couldn’t compete with the exhaustion settling into his bones.

The next day he went to the market and busked on a street corner for an hour or two before heading to the apothecary that Margo had described. It was a squat little building but as he stepped through the door magic prickled over his skin. 

The young man behind the counter glanced up at him, but quickly returned his gaze to the ledger he was carefully filling out.  
“Good day, sir,” Jaskier approached the counter. “Goodwoman Margo sent me with these.”

That got the lad’s attention. Jaskier carefully opened the packages of herbs that Margo and Ysmay had so carefully prepared. He also gave the shop keeper the note that Margo had written.

 _“Don’t haggle,”_ she had instructed. _“Everyone in the business knows the worth of these. It should be enough to get you at least one suitable outfit along with the rest of the supplies.”_

Jaskier had no intention of spending Margo’s coin on himself, but he had only nodded. 

The shopkeeper did not attempt to argue with Jaskier and counted out the coin carefully, handing it to Jaskier. He accepted it and left with a nod. 

Jaskier really, really didn’t want to know what those herbs were or their properties. He was, however, a little curious and impressed that Margo appeared to be well known “in the business.”

Jaskier’s next stop was a clothing merchant. Margo had asked for a bolt of linen and another of wool so that she and Ysmay could make new dresses. That was when Ysmay told him to buy some cloth for himself, it would be cheaper than ready-made clothes and she didn’t mind sewing for Jaskier. 

Jaskier selected a natural but relatively fine linen, since it was mostly destined to be underclothes and wrappings for various items. The wool took him longer. Ymay had told Jaskier how much cloth she needed for a dress and had waved him off when he asked about colours. _“Get a bolt of whatever is cheap. Grandmother and I don’t mind have matching dresses.”_

That simply would not do. It was true, Jaskier kept to the inexpensive colours but there was still a decent selection. Forest green for Ysmay, obviously, to match her eyes and set off her hair. He was lucky in that there was just enough left for a dress, and since it was the end of the bolt Jaskier figured he could haggle the price down a little. As for Margo… Jaskier surveyed the fabric and finally settled on a golden yellow. The dye for that was derived from onion skins and therefore not very expensive. For himself he chose a dark blue. True, he preferred jewel tones, but those cost more and weren’t considered appropriate for peasants, who were mostly expected to wear grey and brown- boring!- but Jaskier was sure his selections would be acceptable to the women. 

He paid with Margo’s money, vowing to refill the purse before he returned home. Jaskier bundled the fabric under his arm and walked a few stalls down to buy thread and a needle. He was sure the ladies already had needles, but it didn’t hurt to buy a spare. He spent more than he should have on good quality thread, but there was still money left so he didn’t feel too badly about it.

Next up was the cobbler. Jaskier desperately needed new boots. His were worn thin and he would lose toes if he tried to wear them in the winter.

Immediately, Jaskier’s eye was drawn to luxurious, fur lined boots. He picked them up and examined them, admiring the obvious skill with which they were made. When he turned them to examine the soles he frowned. They were soft- comfortable, but would be shredded in a fortnight of hard use walking on roads and through brush and he went to put them down and paused.

He was going to winter with Margo and Ysmay. He would stay put all winter, maybe heading to town on nice days. And when he did, he would be riding Roach. Jaskier didn’t need boots for walking. He was settled.

“Farewell wanderlust,” He murmured to himself and handed the boots to the merchant and haggled until they agreed on a price. There was a song in that, he thought. He hadn’t written a new song since the mountain. Maybe it was time to change that.  
Having completed the day’s shopping, Jaskier headed back to the inn to stow his purchases. He quickly headed out again with the aim to obtain an invitation to play at a banquet, feast or party; an event where the host would pay him so he wouldn’t have to rely on tips.

Though he was loath to admit it, Jaskier’s greatest gift was not in fact music, but talking. By the end of the day he talked himself into not one, not two, but _three_ events in the next ten days. Each of those invitations also came with a room for the night, which meant not only was he getting paid, but was saving on lodging. Most excellent indeed. 

It was true that Oxenfurt was over-run with musicians, but Jaskier had clout. His recent disappearance from the public eye worked in his favour as well, since people felt privileged that he would deign to break his sabbatical for them. The one problem was that they were expecting new songs and he had none. But with the majority of his errands complete, he could spend his days composing, maybe work on that song about wanderlust. Even if the new songs were trash, it was unlikely anyone would care since being the first to hear it was considered a sort of favour among those who considered themselves connoisseurs of popular culture. 

That didn’t mean, however, that he was going to be lazy. That evening he found himself a tavern frequented by merchants and other folk with money to spare, and sang until the coins stopped coming. 

After that first day, Jaskier went on a few more shopping trips in between composing sessions. The promised ribbons for Ysmay, as well as hair oils for all three of them. A few buttons and beads, and even some toys for the local children. He bought strings for his lute, and a fishing pole with plenty of extra line. The fishermen back home were sure to have plenty of their own line, but it never hurt to have a little extra. Margo and Ysmay were not big on fishing- they seemed to prefer collecting shellfish during low tide, but Jaskier thought he might give it a go. 

His final evening at Oxenfurt was a success- he had ended up performing at four private events and by the third one he had finished two new songs. Not only that, but his busking had gone over very well. He would be returning with nearly as much money as he’d had when he left; plenty to buy grain and straw to feed the stock all winter.

It was with high spirits that Jaskier returned to Jaroweic, but he was met with an air of anxiety. The children were not running through the streets and even the animals were fewer and farther between.

“Julian!” Ysmay cried before he had even crossed the gate. He jumped off of Roach just in time to catch Ysmay as she launched herself into his arms. “Have you heard from your Witcher? Can you send him a message?”

“I haven’t, and I can’t. I don’t know where he is. What’s wrong?”

“There’s a Griffon! I saw it when I was out picking berries two days ago. You must go back to Oxenfurt, find a mage-”

“Ysmay,” Jaskier said gently, setting her back from him. “Even if I could contact him, I don’t think he would come. He is guarding something precious and he’s not going to leave just to deal with a griffon. Come, help me tend Roach.”

Ysmay trailed behind Jaskier until they reached the stable, where she helped unload Roach and worked to brush her while Jaskier cleaned and stowed her tack. 

“Has the griffon hurt anyone?” Jaskier asked as they worked, picking up the conversation after several quiet moments.

“One of Stephan’s goats, and we think it got that stray dog that’s been hanging around.” Ysmay replied, then asked “What about you?” 

“What about me?”

“You traveled with him. You must have learned something about griffons.”

“That you leave them alone if you know what’s good for you,” Jaskier replied. “They’re very territorial, but if you steer clear of them they’re unlikely to bother you.”

“But we can’t steer clear. Our house, our town… we can’t just move.”

Jaskier sighed. That much was true, but Jaskier could hardly hope to bring down a griffon. Even with help, the fact that it could fly made it very difficult to kill for ordinary humans. “We could put the word out. See if there are any other witchers in the area who can help. But they need to be paid. Next time you’re working at the tavern maybe ask around and see what people are willing to contribute.”

Ysmay nodded, but she was clearly unhappy with the idea, and Jaskier didn’t love it either. Geralt’s brethren would be heading to the Blue Mountains by now, and he doubted any would want to make a detour to a tiny village that in all likelihood would underpay him. 

Maybe Jaskier should go and scope out the nest- perhaps it could be burned out, or lured away? He shook his head. He was just as likely to get killed as he was to learn something helpful. More likely, even. But what was the alternative? Do nothing, let the townsfolk go off with their torches and pitchforks and get killed? 

They finished caring for Roach and went inside to greet Margo, who was busily making cheese in the kitchen.

“Grandmother,” Jaskier said, hugging her from behind.

“Jaskier,” she replied. “Ysmay tell you about the griffon?”

“Yes,” he released her so she could continue her work. 

“What do you think we should do?”

Jaskier sighed heavily. “I’m not sure. I’ll try to find the nest, see if I can learn anything. In the meantime do you want to see what I bought?”

“Oh, yes! You promised presents?” Ysmay asked. Margo sent her a look and she quickly amended. “Not that you have to give me anything.”

“Never fear, love, I keep my promises,” Jaskier handed her the smaller bundle first, bowing ostentatiously as she took it. “The oils are for all of us, but the ribbons are for you. The toys are for the local children, I meant to give them out when I came back through town but I suppose they were all at home.”

Ysmay wasn’t really paying attention as she admired the smooth green ribbon and shiny brass buttons Jaskier had selected.  
Next, they opened the bundle of fabric. Margo scolded him good-naturedly when she saw the several pieces in different colours, but there was no heat in it. Finally, he let them see the supplies he had gotten for himself- boots, lute strings and fishing supplies.

“We can just buy fish, there’s usually plenty at the market,” Ysmay said. “Do you even know how to fish?”

“Not well,” Jaskier shrugged. “But I thought I might learn.”

Margo chuckled, but stopped abruptly when he handed her a purse of coin. “What’s this?”

“Half of what I had when I left Oxenfurt. My, is that a goat calling? Perhaps I should go check-”

“Jaskier,” Margo said softly. “This is too much.”

“I disagree,” Jaskier replied. “You only charged me room and board that first night-”

“Because you earn your keep!” Ysmay interrupted. 

“Yes, I earn my keep like a member of the household. And as such, I feel obliged to share my earnings. Please don’t argue with me.”

“Thank you,” Margo reached across the table to grip Jaskier’s hand. He gripped it back, feeling warm and loved. It felt good to provide for his household- dare he say, family? – and have them acknowledge and appreciate it. 

His family back in Lettenhove had been loving in their own way; he bore them no ill will. But this was different, closer, more intimate and, most importantly, chosen. Jaskier wanted to be with Margo and Ysmay, and they wanted him to stay. He couldn’t quite help comparing it to his time spent at Geralt’s side. Mostly, it had just felt like Jaskier was being tolerated, sometimes endured and even more rarely revered. The sex had been fantastic, though, and it had been incredibly rewarding to help Geralt get what he needed.

But what about what Jaskier needed? Geralt gave him affection, but in short intense bursts and usually after a rough fuck when Jaskier was so out of it he couldn’t appreciate it properly. The weeks he had spent with Ysmay and Margo (and the recent separation) showed him he needed affection daily, if only in small doses. He needed fond looks that didn’t hide away as soon as he saw. He needed casual hugs and touches and to be told in so many ways, verbally and not, that he was valued. 

The failure to kick him out or chase him away was the bare minimum, not the most that he could hope for. Jaskier knew in his heart that when, if, Geralt came to collect Roach Jaskier would stay. Even in the extremely unlikely event that Geralt apologized, groveled, even, Jaskier would stay. All the wonderful sex in the world couldn’t hope to compare to the emotional support and stability he had found in Jaroweic.


	5. Chapter 4: Griffon

_Jaskier_

  
“Wait! I’m coming with you!” Ysmay sprinted after Jaskier and he stopped, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had suspected Ysmay would want to come with him, which is why he had tried to sneak away while she was doing chores.

“I think it would be better for you to stay here.”

“No way,” Ysmay said, crossing her arms. “I want to see the griffon.”

“I really don’t think…” Jaskier trailed off, giving up before he had even started. This speech had never worked on him, why would it work on someone else? “Just stay back, okay? If the griffon eats me promise you’ll run away while it’s distracted?”

“I have my sling, I’ll protect you.”

Jaskier sputtered, picking his jaw up off the ground. “A sling? One of your little pebbles is fine for a hare, but it won’t even be a horsefly to a griffon!”

“If I hit it in the eye it’ll at least be distracted.”

“ _If_ you hit it in the eye it will be furious.” 

Ysmay glared. Jaskier glared back. He was this close to just abandoning the entire project when Ysmay strode into the woods, clearly intent on going with or without him.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier muttered and hurried to catch up.

Ysmay wasn’t a proper hunter, but she did know how to travel relatively quietly through the woods. She also knew these woods and Jaskier soon realized it was fortunate she had come with him, or there was a very good chance that he would have become lost. Jaskier really had no idea where to look. It’s not like flying animals leave a lot of footprints to track. He found himself quietly relaying what he knew about griffons to Ysmay and letting her choose the most likely places to investigate. 

“There’s a cave up ahead. Bears often winter there, but maybe…”

“I’ll go look. You stay back.”

“But-”

“Ysmay, please, I’m begging you. Stay back and run if you hear anything… scary.”

“What about-”

“ _Please._ ”

Ysmay sighed and leaned back against the tree. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Whatever you want,” Jaskier promised quickly and pecked Ysmay on the cheek before creeping away. He had his dagger out, for all the good it would do him. But he went as quietly as he could, sticking to low trees and thick brush so if and when the griffon did decide to attack the flora might provide him with some cover.  
The cave wasn’t very far away, and Jaskier stopped. Ysmay had been right on the money. He could just see a giant beak poking out of the entrance of the cave. Just then the wind picked up, blowing Jaskier’s scent straight into the nest. Jaskier froze, heart racing, as the griffon slowly crept out of the cave.

Terrifying, falcon-like beak, feathery neck swooping into- wait a moment, what’s that?  
The griffon stalked slowly toward Jaskier, but it was clearly favouring its right foreleg, and the matching wing drooped. Dried blood painted the beast’s right side, and fresh blood was oozing from an arrow lodged in its shoulder.

Well, that explains a lot.

Jaskier was distracted enough by the discovery that he forgot to be afraid. That is, until the griffon’s bright eyes fixed on Jaskier and it screeched and lunged forward.

Jaskier let out a screech of his own and turned tail. “Run away! Run away!” He cried, and he was relieved to hear Ysmay crashing through the woods ahead of him.

The griffon was too large to fit easily between the trees and it was getting tangled in the brush. The injured beast was no match for a couple of fit humans running for their lives and it gave up quickly, returning to its cave.  
Jaskier’s heart was pounding a mile a minute, but not with the exhilarating fear he was accustomed to feeling on hunts with Geralt. No, this was true fear not only for himself, but Ysmay. With Geralt, Jaskier knew he was safe, even with murderous monsters breathing down his neck. But now… there was no one to protect him and, in fact, it was up to him to protect Ysmay- whatever she might say about her little sling. If she got hurt because of him Jaskier would never, ever forgive himself. 

Jaskier’s breath was coming out in great, heaving gasps and he finally allowed himself to slow. He could hear Ysmay running ahead of him and that was fine. He hoped she’d run all the way back to the cottage. She was young and spry enough she could probably manage it, Jaskier thought wryly and he paused, attempting to stretch out the knee that he had twisted during his flight. He had been feeling mild twinges from that knee for some time, but now it _hurt_. 

As the adrenalin exited his system, the pain grew. Jaskier was limping by the time he got back to the cottage. Ysmay was there, pacing anxiously.

“What happened?” She demanded when she saw Jaskier’s pained expression and gait.

“I just twisted my knee, it’s fine,” Jaskier said, leaning gratefully on Ysmay’s offered shoulder. 

“Let’s get you inside. Grandmother can help, she’s been treating her own joints for ages.”  
Thank the gods for sturdy farm girls, Jaskier thought as Ysmay hauled him through the garden to the little cottage. Margo was inside, working in the kitchen as she usually was when not in the garden. She looked up and dropped what she was doing to rush to Jaskier’s aid.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” He groused, not wanted to worry the elderly woman. “I’m just too old to be running for my life through the woods.”

“I didn’t even see the griffon,” Ysmay offered, settling Jaskier onto the bench at the table.

“What hurts?” Margo ignored both of them and Jaskier gestured to his left knee. 

“I think I twisted it. The other one is sore too, but not as much.”

“Take off your breeches,” Margo instructed, matter-of-factly.

Jaskier glanced at Ysmay uneasily, but he knew there was no arguing with Margo so he undid the ties and shimmied out of them. His important bits were still covered by his small clothes, and it’s not like Ysmay was some blushing court lady. Hell, chances were good she wasn’t even a virgin. 

Margo knelt before Jaskier, her own joints creaking as she did so. She held Jaskier’s knee lightly while he bent and straightened it at his instruction. Then she grabbed his knee cap and slid it from side to side. “Has your knee cap always done this?” She asked.

“I think so?” Jaskier replied.

“It’s not supposed to. Knee caps are meant to hold the joint in alignment, and yours, well,” she wiggled it again to illustrate her point. “Ysmay, fetch the sage salve for me, please, and some wide bandages.”  
Ysmay did as she was instructed and brought over a rough ceramic pot. 

“Here, the muscles on the outside of his leg are overburdened. See if you can work out the knots,” Margo instructed, nodding as Ysmay spread the salve over Jaskier’s thigh. 

He blushed, looking away as Ysmay put her hands on him, working in the salve, but she didn’t notice. He hadn’t had anyone’s hands on his thighs since… but it’s not like this was sexy. Quite the opposite, really. Ysmay approached this like she did any other job- milking goats or kneading bread. Her strong thumbs dug into Jaskier and it hurt but he didn’t dare make a sound.

“Use your elbow, girl. That’s it.”

This time Jaskier couldn’t help but whimper and she attacked his thigh. There was nothing remotely sensual about this- but when she finally stopped it did feel a little better.

“Should I do the other one too?” Ysmay asked Margo, who nodded.

She didn’t go as hard on his right thigh, or maybe it wasn’t as sore. Either way, Jaskier felt like he’s been through a meat grinder by the time Ysmay was through. Margo nodded approvingly, accepting Ysmay’s help to stand up from the floor.

“Rest in bed for half an hour, no blankets. Let the air cool your legs. Then do some stretches,” Margo demonstrated, “I’ll show you how to wrap it and then back to work.”

“Yes, Grandmother. Thank you,” Jaskier gingerly stood and slunk off to his room, collapsing into bed. Gods, he really was too old for chasing monsters. He hadn’t realized just how hard he had been on his body until he got a chance to rest it. That’s not to say farm work was easy – it wasn’t – but it didn’t force him to his limits the way monster-hunting did. 

***

“I have a plan,” Jaskier announced the next morning at breakfast.

“Oh?” Margo asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Should we be worried?” Ysmay quipped  
Jaskier flapped a hand at her but focussed on Margo when he asked “Can you make a sleeping draught? Something that has to be breathed in, rather than drunk?”  
Margo nodded.

“Okay, so the griffon was hurt, right? That’s probably why it’s eating farm animals rather than hunting wild ones. That might even be why it hasn’t moved on. Griffons generally don’t like to settle near humans because we’re so noisy and violent. I mean, they used to be everywhere because there were so many of them they staked out territories wherever they could. But now there’s not nearly as many so they have their pick of the litter so to speak.”

Ysmay was giving him a look that clearly said “Get to the point.”

“So,” Jaskier took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe he was suggesting this but his knees felt a lot better already and if they could get the griffon to leave that would save them trying to kill it. “You make up a bunch of sleeping draft. Put it in some kind of breakable vessel- clay or glass or something- and I go back to the griffon, chuck the potions at it and wait for it to fall asleep. Then I go in and pull out the arrow, rub in a bunch of salve and then run for my life. Again.”

“No,” Ysmay said.

“What? No, see, I think it’s much safer than trying to kill it-”

“Not that, the throwing. I’ll use my sling. My aim is better than yours and we can be much further away. That way if it doesn’t work we have a bigger head start for running away.”

“Why not just kill it while it’s asleep?” Margo asked pragmatically. 

“Why not just burn a painting because you don’t like its looks?” Jaskier replied, taken aback. “It’s not the griffon’s fault someone shot it. If my plan doesn’t work then by all means collect your torches and pitchforks, but I think we should at least give it a chance to move on.”

Margo nodded, smiling a little. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“I would hope there’s more than one,” Jaskier replied airily. “Even Geralt let monsters go when he could, though that meant he didn’t get paid.”

“What, really?” Ysmay asked. “But it’s a Witcher’s job to kill monsters.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. It’s a Witcher’s job to protect people. Killing isn’t always the best way to do that.”

Ysmay opened her mouth to reply but Margo cut her off. “We’ll need some time to get the draught and the salve together. They’ll both need to be much, much stronger than what we normally use. Jaskier, you’ll have to pick up the slack with the chores and work.”

Jaskier nodded with agreement and stood, brushing crumbs off of his clothes. His silks were looking worse for wear, but there was no time for the women to start sewing when they were still in the middle of the harvest. Maybe he should have purchased ready-made clothes after all. “Best I’d get to work then.”

When Jaskier came out of the milking shed, Margo was collecting herbs- from the side of the garden Jaskier usually avoided after Margo warned him about the potency and, in some cases, poisonous properties of the plants there. Ysmay was on the far side of the property, setting up a tripod with a cauldron over a fire.

“Julian!” Margo called and he sidled over, resting the pails of milk on the ground. “Don’t go anywhere near Ysmay and me. If this goes wrong we’ll be knocked out, but don’t you dare try to come get us or you’ll get knocked out too.”

“Wait, hold up, this is dangerous? You didn’t tell me this would be dangerous. We should come up with another-”

“It’s not likely,” Margo interrupted. “And your plan is good. I’d hate to see such a creature killed for something that really isn’t its fault. Besides, the fewer people involved the fewer people can get hurt. Please put that in the root cellar,” she nodded at the milk. Jaskier reluctantly picked up the pails and left Margo to her task. 

For the next two days the women were busy brewing. They had strips of cloth tied snuggly over the lower half of their faces, and only one of them ever approached the cauldron at a time. At one point it was bubbling with ominous purple smoke, but it cleared quickly and no one passed out so Jaskier supposed it was all as it should be.  
When not attending the sleeping draft, the women spent their time preparing a large bowl of salve. It smelled of sage, like the one Jaskier and Margo applied to their sore joints, but it also had an astringent scent that Jaskier couldn’t place. The entire cottage smelled of it, not that Jaskier spent much time inside. He worked dawn until dusk, attempting to complete all of the chores that Margo and Ysmay usually did, as well as the ones he had taken on himself. He only stopped to eat, drink, and fall into bed at the end of the day.

A few hours into the morning of the third day Margo declared the draught was finished. Now for the most risky part: pouring the potion into eggshells and stopping them with wax. Ceramic and glass were too expensive, so Margo had decided to use the much more plentiful eggs. She and Ysmay used a sewing needle to carefully poked small holes in the shells and drain out the contents, before funnelling the potion inside and sealing them closed. The egg bombs were then packed carefully into a basket of straw. Jaskier was incredibly impressed by Margo’s steady hands and steely resolve, and soon there were a dozen eggs nestled together.

“Tomorrow,” Margo said and Jaskier agreed. 

They had egg and onion tart for supper.

***

“Promise me you’ll stay back. Someone will need to tell Margo if I die, and Geralt too if he ever comes back.”  
Ysmay rolled her eyes as the pair picked their way carefully through the woods. “What if you need help?”

“I need some kind of help all right, but unless you’re a mind healer I don’t think there’s much you can do for me.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s something I could do for you,” Ysmay winked. 

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at her, “Anyway, if and when I perish you can have my lute. Learn to play it and sing my song for the rest of your days.”

“If you die there will be no one to teach me how to play it.”

“Guess I’d better not die then,” Jaskier said and quieted. They were nearly to the cave. “Last chance to turn back and let me deal with this.”

“No way,” Ysmay said, finding a good position and handing Jaskier the basket. They both tied cloth over their noses and mouths- it wouldn’t offer much protection from the fumes, but a little was better than none. Then Ysmay readied her sling and held two eggs in her free hand. Jaskier also held two eggs, preparing to pass them to Ysmay as soon as she was ready.

Quick as lightning, the first egg landed in the mouth of the cave, a small puff of purple smoke proving that it had broken open. The second of Ysmay’s eggs followed, then both of Jaskier’s.

The screeching had started with the third egg, and by the sixth it had quieted again. Ysmay still slung all twelve eggs into the cave, then they stood together quietly for some time.

“How long does it take to work?” Jaskier whispered and Ysmay shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine. One of those eggs would be enough to take out at least five humans in a couple of minutes.”

Jaskier shuddered at the thought of holding such a potent potion in his hands. “Stay back,” he crept forward. Ysmay ignored him and followed. 

When Jaskier peeked into the cave he saw a heap of fur and feathers. The griffon was sprawled out and breathing deeply and slowly. It didn’t even stir when Jaskier poked it with a stick.

“Here goes nothing,” Jaskier murmured, climbing astride the griffon’s back. Oh, this was a bad idea. A terrible, awful, no-good, very bad idea. The arrow was imbedded deeply and Jaskier gave the arrow the tiniest of twists. It moved, proving it wasn’t lodged into a bone. Thank the gods for small miracles.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, willing his voice to stop shaking. “I need to spread the wound so I can get the arrow out in one piece.”

“Will these work?” Ysmay passed him a pair of tongs. Margo had sent Ysmay with a kit of supplies beyond the salve.

“Yes, hopefully,” He held the tongs and took a deep breath, then another and another.

“Should I just do it?” Ysmay asked, growing impatient.

“No, you should not. Just… okay, I’m ready,” Jaskier carefully slid the…the tong part of the tongs down the shaft of the arrow. When he felt them catch on something hard he carefully rotated until the tongs slipped the rest of the way down. He gripped the tongs hard with one hand, and the shaft of the arrow with the other, and pulled as hard as he could. 

There was resistance at first, but then the arrow popped out like a champagne cork and Jaskier nearly lost his seat. The griffon moaned and shifted, but didn’t wake. Jaskier was shaking so hard he dropped the tongs and arrow and they bounced off the griffon’s flank, clattering to the floor. 

“Jaskier?” Ysmay collected the tools, then tugged on Jaskier’s leg.

“I’m okay,” Jaskier wheezed. “Salve? Please?”

Ysmay passed the bowl of salve and Jaskier took a handful, sticking his fingers _into the wound_. “Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up,” he didn’t realize he was saying it aloud until he felt Ysmay’s comforting hand on his leg. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re almost through. Put the rest of the salve on the outside, there you go. Now come down.”

The had decided earlier not to attempt to stitch or bandage the wound since there would be no one there to remove them when (if) the Griffon recovered. 

Jaskier slid off of the griffon and into a heap, then staggered out of the cave. He didn’t say anything until they were halfway home. When he was satisfied with their safety he collapsed to the ground with a pitiful moan. Ysmay sat beside him.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” Jaskier demanded, laying in the brush and staring at the branches above him. He felt like he’d been running for days. He wanted to puke and pass out but also felt weirdly wired. 

“I was scared, but I knew the sleeping draft was strong. And I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”  
Jaskier groaned. “Remind me to apologize if I ever see Geralt again.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier muttered, sitting up and accepting Ysmay’s help to stand.

“How did you know what to do?”

“I patched up Geralt a bunch of times. Never took an arrow out of him, but there was a close call once and he told me what to do should it ever happen.”

“He sounds… interesting.”

Jaskier snorted inelegantly. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” they walked a few more paces before Jaskier added, “he’s a complete churl.”

“Why? Because he hurt you?”

“Many times. Not physically, of course. He would eviscerate anything or anyone that threatened me. But he was always… cold. Not really his fault, it’s the way he was raised. But he said my singing was like fillingless pie.”

Ysmay winced. “If he was so mean why did you stay with him for so long?”

“He was a good lay,” Jaskier said, trying to either joke or make Ysmay uncomfortable enough to drop it.  
It didn’t work.

“That can’t be the only reason.”

Jaskier sighed. “I suppose not. When he did show a bit of warmth it was like the sun was smiling just for me. And he protected me and took care of me the best he could. And life with him was thrilling; he was my muse. All the songs I wrote in the last twenty years have been about him, one way or another.”

“You never sing any of them.”

“I know, but I’m working on a new one. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes!” Ysmay nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s not finished yet,” Jaskier he warned before he began to sing:

“' _You look like I need a drink’ he winked as he slipped from my grasp to the bar_  
 _‘and you are’_  
 _He said ‘me, little me’_  
 _He called from the brink of the day_  
 _He said ‘hey darling, hey, hey darling, hey,_  
 _‘I’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say…_ ’

“And then there’s another verse or two that I haven’t worked out yet,” Jaskier paused in his song to say, “But then it goes:

_Because Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been oh, so kind_   
_You brought me to this party but you left me here behind,_

“I think that’s the chorus? I’m not sure, I haven’t had much time to work on it. Also, I think this song might be a duet? So I might never finish it.”

“Why not?”

“I always perform alone.”

“Well,” Ysmay caught her lip in her teeth for a moment before looking up. “Were you serious? About teaching me?”

“You want to learn to sing?”

“Sure,” Ysmay shrugged. “Then we could sing together. But… is this about him?”

“I’m not sure. I meant for it to be about travelling, and how I’m not doing it anymore, but who knows,” Jaskier spread his arms. “I just write the songs, I don’t know what they mean.”  
Ysmay laughed and linked her arm with Jaskier’s and they completed the journey side-by-side. 


	6. Chapter 5: Winter

_Jaskier_

After the flurry of autumn activity, winter was a welcome respite. With only the animals to care for a food to cook, Ysmay started on Jaskier’s new clothes. Margo spent a lot of time resting, though she still made cheese every day until the milk dried up. Then there was slaughtering the male kid and they had meat for supper.

Jaskier sang and composed. He taught Ysmay to sing and Margo joined in from time to time as well. The cottage smelled of beeswax and herbs, the food was good and the fire was warm.

He had never been happier.

On nice days Jaskier and Ysmay rode Roach into town. If the inn was busy Ysmay would work behind the bar, but mostly Jaskier sang. He didn’t make much in tips, but he would often get a drink on the house and the appreciation from the patrons was nice. They weren’t used to having music to help ease the darkness of winter, and were incredibly tolerant of Jaskier trying out his new material on them.

Tonight was a busy enough night that Ysmay was working, and Jaskier had just sat down to rest his voice and wet his throat. A fresh mug of ale appeared before him and he looked up, expecting to see Ysmay but instead it was Stephan, the owner of the inn.

“Mind if I sit down?” He asked gruffly and Jaskier nodded.

Stephan sat with a groan. He was a little older than Jaskier and soft, and had a limp from a broken leg that always ached in the cold.

“You gonna marry that girl?” He nodded to Ysmay, who was chatting with a group of fishermen’s wives who had taken over the bar.

“Right to the point, I see,” Jaskier tried not to sputter and took another drink from his ale.

“She’s a good girl. She deserves good things,” Stephan looked at Jaskier shrewdly. “She told me about the griffon. Everyone knows that we have you to thank for keeping our children and livestock safe.”

“I…”

“But if you hurt her you’ll wish the griffon had gotten you.”

“Yes sir,” Jaskier said meekly.

Stephan sat back in his seat, his affable smile back in place. “You two are a good match, but she’s not going to wait for you forever, son. If you want her you need to get a move on before one of the other lads makes an offer.” Stephan got to his feet, nodded at Jaskier, and went to check on the other patrons.

Jaskier fiddled with his tankard, suddenly uninterested in the ale.

Yes, Ysmay flirted with him. And sometimes he flirted back, how could he not? He’d spent years honing the skill and when a pretty girl winked at him of course he winked back. He knew Ysmay loved him, perhaps even romantically. And he loved her, of course he did. But was it enough? He wasn’t in love with her, not like he had been (still was) with Geralt. Not even like he had been with the Countess de Stael. But perhaps he didn’t need to be. Truly, most people of his station don’t care one whit about such trivialities when it comes to marriage and from that perspective Ysmay was perfect. No, she wasn’t nobly born but she offered him a pleasant, comfortable life full of fun and affection.

But was that enough?

***

_Geralt_

  
  


The door slammed behind him and he stalked to the bar. The short, round woman behind it shrunk back, but she met his gaze and set a mug on the bar in front of her.

“What’ll it be?” She asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Geralt couldn’t help but appreciate it. With no new White Wolf songs, the public was beginning to forget and were falling back on tossing vegetables instead of coins.

“I’m looking for someone,” Geralt said. “Jaskier, the bard. Is he here?”

“I don’t make a habit of tattling on my guests,” she withdrew the tankard. “Be on your way, Witcher.”

Geralt considered trying to bribe the woman, but The Three Little Bells was a nice place and he doubted his meager coin would be enough to tempt anyone. He nodded to the woman and turned to leave, but paused. “If you see him, tell him…” Tell him what? That I’m coming to get my horse back? Get my bard back? I'm sorry, please, please come back to me? “Nevermind.”

“It’s been over a month since he’s been here,” the woman said, a note of sympathy in her voice. “He said something about heading back to the coast.”

The coast. Of course. There was a shit ton of coast to wade through and Geralt had already searched most of it between the Dragon Mountains and here. This was the first he’d heard of Jaskier since he’d left Ciri at Kaer Morhen. Every day away from her made his guts twist tighter, but he had to find Jaskier. If he wasn’t performing he must be injured somehow. If he can’t play he can’t provide for himself and Geralt couldn’t stand the idea of Jaskier being cold and hungry and alone. The very least he could do was take Jaskier somewhere where he would be safe, if not Kaer Morhen, then somewhere.

Geralt left the inn and collected his new horse; an enormous gelding, black and shaggy and strong enough to force his way through the wind and snow. Geralt had always chosen smaller, faster horses in the past, but he also had never spent his winter searching for wayward bards.

He mounted the horse and turned him towards the coast, continuing to work his way West and South. If he didn’t find Jaskier soon he would have to turn back. He couldn’t risk staying away much longer.

  
  


***

  
  


“You’re too late, Witcher, the griffon is taken care of.”

Geralt grunted. Griffon? He hadn’t heard anything about Griffons in the area, but if it was taken care of then it wasn’t important. “Not looking for a contract. Have you seen the bard Jaskier?”

“No one here by that name, I’m afraid.”

Geralt grunted and turned to leave. _One more village_ , he told himself, _one more village before I give up_. He had told himself that four villages ago, but the longer he went without hearing news of Jaskier the worse the sinking feeling in his chest became. If he's not performing he must either be captured or dead.

“There is a bard, though. Julian. He’s staying with Grandmother Margo and Ysmay. Maybe he’ll know something?”

“Where?”

“Follow that road out of town…” Geralt carefully memorized the directions and swept out of the inn and back into the darkness. He didn’t have high hopes, but it was the first lead he’s had since Oxenfurt.

The gelding’s huge stride ate up the distance and Geralt heard the cottage before he could see it. Singing, lute music. His heart pumped a little faster but he refused to get his hopes up. Plenty of bards could play the lute.

As he got closer he could make out the words, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice. It was seared into his eardrums, his heart. He sat dumbly, listening as it wove together with a second, a woman.

“ _I promise you I’m not broken  
I promise you there’s more  
More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door,”_

The words were painful, but they were sung with a certain joy. Jaskier sounded… happy. Geralt slowly approached the cottage.

“ _Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but light  
Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night  
This here is not makeup, it’s a porcelain tomb  
And this here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune because_

_Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been ever so kind  
You brought me through this darkness, but you left me here behind  
And so long to the person you begged me to be”_

Wait, was Geralt wanderlust? Or was it literal. Geralt paused again, brow furrowed.

“ _He’s down, he’s dead  
He’s gone, oh, he’s lost  
He’s flown, he’s fled  
Now take a good long look at what you’ve all done to me!”_

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. If the song wasn’t about him Geralt would eat his boots. And the way he wailed the last line…

He could hear three voices, talking laughing and then oh, hell, they started singing again and Geralt knew for certain _this_ song was about him.

“ _It’s what my heart just yearns to say  
In ways that can’t be said-”_

Geralt leapt off of his horse and brought his fist down on the door. The voices inside fell silent for a beat, then the door swung open. A small, elderly woman somehow managed to take up the entire doorway.

“Witcher,” she said. He peered past her, seeing a young, red-haired woman snuggled up to...

“Jaskier!” He rasped and the bard scrambled to his feet.

“Geralt,” the man’s face completely drained of colour and he clutched the neck of his lute. “Right, yeah, you’ll be here for Roach? She’s in the barn out back-“

“I came here for you.”

“I don’t think so,” the young woman placed herself between Geralt and Jaskier and planted her hands on her hips.

“I…” Geralt didn’t know what to say to that, but the cold wind was whipping into the cozy cottage. “Can I come in?”

“No,” the redhead said at the same time as Jaskier said “I’ll come out.”

The old woman shut the door and left Geralt outside. It’s not like he wasn’t used to that sort of treatment. He wasn’t used to anyone trying to protect Jaskier from him, though. But then, if he told these people what Geralt had said, what he had done, he had to admit it was warranted.

A few moments later Jaskier came out, bundled up in a heavy cloak with a scarf wrapped around his head and neck.

“I won’t hurt you,” Geralt said and Jaskier looked up at him curiously.

“If you say so,” He replied. “The barn is back there. You can probably see it better than me.”

Geralt could not only see it, but smell it. Goats, poultry and, if he concentrated, Roach. “Come on, Buttercup.”

“Excuse me?!”

Geralt glanced back at the sputtering bard. “The horse. His name is Buttercup.”

“Of course it is,” Jaskier muttered and trailed along behind Geralt and his massive horse. They arrived at the stable and Jaskier gestured to the lantern hanging from the ceiling. Geralt lit it with _igni._

“Hey, girl,” Geralt murmured, approaching the mare who nickered at him. “Have you been good to Jaskier? Of course you have,” He stroked her nose and looked her over. “Getting a little fat, hmm? That’s all right. You’ve worked hard, you deserve a break.” Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, who had made a strange, strangled noise.

“Well, there she is. I suppose you can sleep out here, if you want, and be on your way in the morning. I’d invite you inside, but there really isn’t any space-”

“Jaskier.”

“What?”

“I came for you. I’m not leaving without you.”

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times while his face turned pink- not with flattery, but with anger.

“You what? You _abandon_ me on a mountainside after saying truly _horrendous_ things to me. Then you don’t contact me for months and what, you expect me to drop everything and go prancing off with you in the middle of winter? That is particularly idiotic, especially for you!”

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier did his fish impression again, but found his words much faster this time. “I bet you are! That doesn’t mean I’m going to go gallivanting off with you again, Geralt! Has it occurred to you that I _like_ it here? That I might want to stay?”

Geralt frowned. No, it hadn’t occurred to him.

“I know I annoyed you to no end and I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. Even when you loved me I don’t think you really _liked_ me. You don’t need to protect me anymore. I’m not your responsibility.”

 _That's not true, I did like you. I do like you. I still love you_. “Jaskier-“

“What? What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier threw up his hands in frustration. “Great, yeah, great. That makes everything better except oh wait, it doesn’t! It doesn’t mean a fucking thing, Geralt. It’s too little, too late. You are a bastard and an idiot. I don’t know why I thought I could teach you how to deal with your feelings-“

“You did. Teach me. I’m not good at it but…” Geralt took a deep breath. Words. Geralt had broken Jaskier’s heart with words, perhaps if Geralt could find the right words he might be able to mend it. “I didn’t mean those things. I was angry.”

“No shit.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you so angry with me?” Now Geralt was yelling too. They were being loud enough the humans in the cottage could probably hear them. Geralt started un-tacking Buttercup, if only for something to do. If Jaskier kicked him out he could always re-tack the horse.

“Because you hurt me! Not just on the mountain, but over and over, every blessed day. Do you know what Ysmay and Margo do when I tell them my knees hurt? I’ll give you a hint, they don’t grunt and ignore me, that’s for sure. When I speak they listen to me. They listen to my songs and try to help me improve them. They let me hug them, and hug me back. They are _kind_ to me Geralt, every minute of every day. Even when I’m annoying. Even when I make mistakes. They appreciate me, Geralt, and they show me and tell me. And now that I’ve had that, I realized how much I _need_ it.”

 _You didn’t give me what I needed_. The words hung unsaid in the air.

“Nilfgaard is looking for you. They’re looking for anyone who can tell them where Ciri- my child- is.”

“I figured as much,” Jaskier said, unsurprised by the sudden change in topic. He sagged against the wall of the barn as if exhausted.

“Here,” Geralt produced a box from inside his cloak and thrust it roughly at Jaskier.

Jaskier took it and nearly dropped it when he saw what was inside. “A pigeon? I have plenty to eat here, Geralt.”

“A homing pigeon. If you need me tie a message to its leg if you can and let it go. Even without a message I’ll know to come looking for you.”

“Why would I-”

“ _I will protect you_. Even if you hate me for the rest of your days I will not let you be hurt, by Nilfgaard or anyone else. If Nilfgaard shows up, release the bird and run. Please.”

Jaskier took a long look at Geralt before he nodded, “Okay. Yeah, I will.”

“I think you’ll be safe here. It was hard to find you, and I know what you look like. But just in case.”

“Sure.” Jaskier set the cage down on a ledge near the guinea coop, and got a few seeds for the pigeon. He’d have to come up with a better enclosure for it tomorrow, but for now it would be all right. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

  
  


***

  
  


_Jaskier_

  
  


“Are you okay? What happened?” Ysmay rushed to Jaskier as soon as he stepped inside, helping him out of his cloak and scarf.

“You couldn’t hear for yourself?” Jaskier tried to joke, sitting heavily on the bench and laying his head on the kitchen table. Ysmay sat beside him, wrapping an arm around him to tuck Jaskier against her side.

“We could hear some. Mostly him.”

“He wants me to go with him.”

Ysmay squeezed him.

“I said no, of course. But apparently Nilfgaard is looking for me. Geralt has… something they want, and apparently think they can get to him through me.”

“Can they?”

Jaskier shrugged, “Doesn’t much matter, does it? If they come for me I’ll have no choice but to run. But it’s not likely,” he rushed to reassure the women. “Geralt said I was hard to find, and it’s not like all of Nilfgaard knows what I look like.”

Ysmay hugged Jaskier closer and Margo sat across from them. “Where is Geralt now?” she asked.

“I told him he could sleep in the barn. He’ll probably head out at first light.”

“Hmm,” Margo said. “Not very hospitable.”

“No,” Jaskier laughed shortly. “But he’ll be fine. He’s probably been sleeping outside so the barn is a good step up. I didn’t want him in here. I can’t…” he wasn’t sure exactly what it was he couldn’t do. Resist him, probably. It was easy to tell Geralt to fuck off when he was angry, but after he’d had time to cool down, after he saw Geralt’s face softened by firelight, could he still say no? Could he still say no in the face of his greatest love? Could he still say no to death and destiny? Heroics and heartbreak?

It didn’t matter. Geralt would go, Jaskier would stay, and everything would go back to the way it was. Jaskier would stay in Jaroweic and he would marry Ysmay and have children and do everything a man was supposed to. Guess his parents had been right about him after all. It only took two decades to be ready to settle down.

He was ready. He _was_.

  
  


_Ysmay_

  
  


Jaskier had retired to him room, though he still plucked sadly at his lute. Ysmay gathered some leftover bread and cheese from their supper and put on her cloak. Grandmother raised an eyebrow at her but Ysmay ignored her, taking a lantern into the night.

She tapped lightly on the barn door before shouldering it open.

The Witcher was kneeling in the narrow aisle in the centre of the barn. The candle light shone off his pale hair and the silver rivets in his armour. He was handsome, in a fearsome way. Large and hulking, strong, with sharp features.

He opened his eyes and stared at Ysmay. She stared back, unflinching. In the almost dark it was hard to see the colour of his eyes, but Ysmay knew they were an unnatural gold.

“Thought you might be hungry,” she offered the food to Geralt.

He stood, slowly, hunching his shoulders as if trying to look smaller, less threatening. _Good luck with that_ Ysmay thought. He took the food and backed away, then knelt back down and carefully started to eat.

“What do you want with Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

“What. Do. You. Want. With. Jaskier?” She repeated the question slower, carefully enunciated each syllable like you might speak to someone who wasn’t fluent in your language.

“I heard you the first time,” his voice was gruff, low. “He’s in danger. I want to protect him.”

“The only dangerous thing around here is Grandmother’s herbs, and he knows to steer clear of those.”

Geralt shook his head, then carefully licked the crumbs off his leather gloves.

“If Nilfgaard comes you’ll need more than herbs to keep him safe.”

“Oh, and you think you can? Keep him safe? I know there’s two sides to every story, but his side is pretty damning. He's still in pain, you know.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. Ysmay thought he might not answer but after a time he spoke. “I… have no excuse. But if he needs me, I will come. I can protect his body if not his… heart. But if it comes to that, I will try. I will never stop trying to be what he needs. But when all this is over, I will return him to you. You have my word.”

“If he goes off with you again he may not want to return,” Ysmay sighed a little sadly. “Goodnight, Witcher.”

  
  



	7. Chapter 6: Solstice

_Jaskier_

  
  


Geralt was gone by the time Jaskier went to help care for the animals. Geralt and Buttercup were gone, but Roach was still there. Jaskier stopped in front of her stall, his eyes over-bright.

“Hey, girl,” He murmured. He let himself into the stall and settled his arms around Roach’s neck, hugging her tight. Ysmay didn’t disturb him, quietly collecting the few eggs and feeding the animals on her own.

“Jask, what’s this?”

“Homing pigeon,” Jaskier said, looking to over to what Ysmay was gesturing at. “So I can contact Geralt if I need to.”

“It needs a better cage. He’s got no water in there.”

“I know, I’ll-”

“I’ll figure it out,” Ysmay said, then reached over the stall door to grip Jaskier’s shoulder. “I think… I think he means well.”

“I know.”

Ysmay squeezed his shoulder again and left.

Jaskier stayed with Roach for most of the morning, grooming her thoroughly and giving her stall a deep clean. When he was done with her stall he moved onto the one that Buttercup had used, then to the goat pen and the coops for the ducks and guinea fowl. The pigeon was looking a little worse for wear, but Ysmay had given it a dish of water. If they were lucky the water wouldn’t freeze until night. The body heat of the animals generally kept the well-insulated barn above freezing, but the nights were still growing colder; the solstice more than a month away.

Jaskier trudged back to the cottage, knowing he couldn’t spend the whole day moping in the barn. As he approached he heard a stilted tune on the air and couldn’t help but smile. Ysmay had taken to music surprisingly quickly. Next time he went to Oxenfurt he would bring her back an instrument of her own. He stepped quietly into the cottage. Ysmay didn’t look up from the lute and Margo was sitting at the table, finishing up her new dress, also in deep concentration.

Not wanting to interrupt the quiet, Jaskier found his slate and considered the partly written poem. He wrote a few lines, went back and changed some words, and so on. The companionable silence stretched on until Margo sat back with a soft groan, a hand going to her lower back.

Both Ysmay and Jaskier looked up with concern, but Margo flapped her hand at them in the gesture that meant ‘I’m fine.’

Nonetheless, Ysmay put the lute aside and rose, stirring up the leftover porridge from breakfast.

“Jask?” She looked up to the loft and he climbed up the ladder, returning with a couple of apples, which Ysmay sliced and added to the porridge.

They ate quietly, but Ysmay was slowly growing more agitated, jiggling her leg and fussing with the end of her braid. Finally, when everyone had finished their food she spoke. “So are we going to talk about it?”

“I’d rather hoped not to,” Jaskier said, trying for joviality.

“He said Nilfgaard was after you. How is an entire country after you? What did you _do_?”

“It’s more of a question of who,” Margo answered wryly and Jaskier nearly chocked on his mead.

“Grandmother!”

“Be that as it may, it’s not my fault Geralt is a wanted man,” Jaskier said a little defensively.

“And I thought having a Witcher after you was bad,” Ysmay grumbled.

“Look, if you’re worried about it I’ll go-”

“No!” Ysmay interrupted. “I’m just… surprised at the amount of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

“So what’ll you do if they come?” Margo cut in before Ysmay could ask more questions.

“In the _unlikely_ event they show up, I’ll do what Geralt said. Release the bird and run.”

“If you run how will he find you?” Margo asked.

“He found me once, when I was _trying_ to hide from him. He can do it again. Plus I know what direction he’ll likely be coming from. No, I will not tell you. Because _if_ they come and _if_ they question you, you will cooperate fully and tell them everything you know.”

“Not likely,” Ysmay snorted.

“Yes, you will tell them because one way or another they’ll get the information. I’d rather that part of the process be… painless. So you will tell them everything you know, which will be not much because I haven’t told you anything they can use.”

“Why would they even ask us? Everyone knows Witchers winter in the north.”

“And Geralt knows that, too. You really think he’d take that chance?” Jaskier knew that was exactly where Geralt was, but he wasn’t about to let on.

“Hrmph,” Ysmay said.

No one said anything for a few minutes.

“So, the solstice? What do you normally get up to?” Jaskier asked.

  
  


***

  
  


Three days before the solstice the weather was fair and the tavern was full to bursting. The townspeople, not trusting the weather to hold, had decided to move the festivities up. People were singing and giving gifts and pulling pranks. The ale was flowing more freely than usual and everyone was merry.

Jaskier had just collapsed onto a bench for a break, tired but happy. Someone put a mug in his hands and someone else slapped his back good-naturedly. The door opened and shut, hardly heard above the din, but when Jaskier spotted the newcomers at the bar he froze.

A group of men in black armour crowded around the bar. They looked tired, and a little worse for wear. There wasn’t any space for them to sit so they hung around the bar. Ysmay, for her part, did not look a tiny bit distressed and she poured drinks for the group of Nilfgaardian soldiers.

Jaskier kicked his lute under his chair, praying fervently that no one else would ask him for a song. Since hardly anyone had even noticed that he stopped playing he was probably safe for the time being.

His first instinct was to run. He didn’t, of course. Hightailing it out of the tavern in the middle of a party would draw more attention than sitting squashed between the fishermen at his table. Besides, he wasn’t about to leave Ysmay to fend for herself. She was safe enough as long as she stayed inside, but when the festivities were over she would walk herself home no matter the hour, whether Jaskier was there to escort her or not.

The soldiers looked exhausted and cold and didn’t seem keen on stirring up any trouble. Jaskier hadn’t heard of any attacks nearby, so they were probably just scouts, or more likely hunters attempting to track down Geralt or anyone associated with him.

Jaskier watched them uneasily as they drank and then headed upstairs. He let out a sigh of relief when they didn’t return and made eye contact with Ysmay, whose expression was tight.

Jaskier stood and sidled to the bar, doing his best to look casual and he leaned up against it.

“Another drink?” Ysmay asked, quietly as she could amid the ruckus.

“No,” Jaskier said, sliding his tankard to her and she made like she was filling it.

“They’re asking questions. They know there’s a bard here. I heard them say they would track him down in the morning.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, mouth dry. “Yeah, great. Okay.”

“Ja-Julian,” Ysmay’s eyes were wide and sad.

“It’s late. They’ll sleep in. I’ll get you home before…” He looked down.

“I can get myself-”

Jaskier shook his head and left the bar, empty tankard in hand. The men at his table shifted to let him sit back down, but didn’t pay much attention. He sat in uncharacteristic silence as the celebration carried on, finally drawing to a close in the wee hours. He helped Ysmay clean up, though she half-assed it and they left, fetching Roach. It felt cruel to ask the horse to hurry, but Jaskier did it anyway and she trotted willingly down the dirt road until they came back to the cottage.

Ysmay relaxed at the sight of the cottage, and Jaskier relaxed a little too. Jaskier took Roach to the barn to rest while he prepared.

Inside, Ysmay had woken Margo and they were working together to pack up a sack of supplies. Not just food, Jaskier noted, but salves and wax and a few other valuable things that he could sell if need be. He silently went to his room and packed his things.

When he emerged from his room he was almost knocked over by Ysmay, who flung herself into his arms. “Let me come with you,” she begged and he almost said yes.

“You can’t leave Grandmother alone,” he murmured, knowing that mentioning the danger would only make Ysmay more determined. “I’ll come back to you, I pro-”

“No,” Ysmay laid a finger on his lips, “Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.”

Jaskier nodded and pressed his forehead to Ysmay’s. They held each other for a long time and if their cheeks became wet, well, they weren’t the only ones.

After a span of time which was both too long and not enough, Jaskier straightened up and cleared his throat. “I think I shall travel to Oxenfurt for the solstice celebration,” he said. They knew he was lying, but it was something they could tell Nilfgaard if they were questioned.

This time it was Margo’s weight against him and he held her just as tightly, knowing that even if he returned this could well be the last time he saw her.

“I love you,” he whispered into her white hair.

“I love you,” she replied and kissed Jaskier on the cheek.

He put on his cloak and collected his pack and the sack of supplies, then headed to the stable. Jaskier had just finished securing his luggage to Roach when the door slammed open and to reveal Ysmay, panting and red-faced.

“You almost forgot,” she held back a sob while she held out Jaskier’s lute case.

“No, I didn’t.”

“But-”

“You keep it safe. Practice it. Write a song about me, and sing it once it’s safe.”

“Jaskier!” She wailed, dropping the lute and throwing herself at him again. He caught her and held her. She only stayed in his arms for a few moments before she straightened a turned. She opened the pigeon’s cage almost violently and it blinked stupidly at her before hopping out and flying away. Jaskier hoped it wouldn’t freeze to death before it reached its home.

Jaskier lead Roach out of the barn and mounted. He rode away without looking back.

  
  


***

  
  


_Geralt_

Geralt had been riding hard for a week, pushing Buttercup to his limits and himself past them. He couldn’t shake the memory of the pigeon, half-frozen, hurtling into the stable. A broken bird.

Part of him had hoped to never see that bird again. Part of him was elated that Jaskier still needed him, still trusted him enough to ask for his protection. Of course, the guilt he felt quickly overshadowed any joy.

He had never imagined he would be summoned so soon. It was bitterly cold; the worst possible time of year to travel. Nilfgaard must be desperate to find him if they were continuing their search through the winter months.

It was starting to grow dark, but Geralt caught a glimpse of a traveller far down the road. They approached each other and Geralt bristled, until something about the gait of the horse and the posture of the rider seemed familiar.

“Geralt?” wind carried the word to the Witcher’s ears and he kicked Buttercup into a full gallop, reaching Jaskier and Roach in seconds.

The bard was not well. His skin was pale, except for his blue lips and red spots on his nose and cheeks. He listed in the saddle while Roach trudged, her head hanging low.

“Jaskier!” Geralt crowded Buttercup against Roach’s side and his arms were around Jaskier, and then Jaskier was in his lap. Geralt wrapped his cloak around Jaskier, shielding the smaller man as best he could. Geralt held him tight and reached out again, this time gathering Roach’s reins.

“You came for me,” Jaskier murmured.

“I will always come for you. I will always protect you.”

Jaskier didn’t answer. Geralt’s stomach twisted and he urged Buttercup to go as fast as he dared. At least Roach seemed to have it a little easier without the bard’s weight on her back.

Geralt had seen a shack up the road, probably abandoned. If only they could make it there, he could start a fire, wrap up Jaskier in all the blankets from the bedrolls. Even let the horses inside, let their bodies help heat the air. Geralt was frantic, but he held it in, held it together, and held his bard. They arrived at the shack and there were gaps in the planks that let the wind and snow drift in, but it was better than nothing. Geralt dismounted and carried Jaskier inside, setting him near the stone hearth before taking off his cloak and wrapping it around the smaller man. The cold bit at Geralt but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t hurt him, not in the time it would take to get a fire going. There was a little wood inside and he threw it into the hearth, followed by a blast of _igni_ that was probably stronger than needed. Geralt rushed back outside and thank the gods there was a small pile of wood already stacked by the side of the hut. He grabbed as much as he could and rushed back inside, throwing several logs on the fire.

One last trip outside and he lead the horses into the small building. Buttercup was confused by this, but since Roach was unbothered he followed her in.

Geralt found both his and Jaskier’s bedrolls, opening them and throwing the blankets and furs haphazardly over Jaskier, who had begun to shiver. Why was he shivering? Shouldn’t he be warmer now that he was inside?

Next, Geralt untacked the horses and threw their saddle blankets over Jaskier as well. The shivers were wracking his body now, teeth chattering loudly.

“Jaskier,” Geralt crouched by the pile of blankets. “What’s wrong, what can I do?”

“C-c-c-cold,” was the only reply.

“I’ve got a fire going, and you’re under every blanket we have,” Geralt said, the panic finally worming its way into his voice. “What else can I do? What do you need?”

Jaskier didn’t reply.

With the absence of any better ideas, Geralt took off his armour and burrowed under the blankets with Jaskier. He was reluctant to touch the bard, but he was cold and if humans got too cold they died and Jaskier couldn’t die, he _couldn’t_. Geralt had told him to run and if running was the thing that killed him…

Geralt held Jaskier close, breathing warm air onto his face and stroking his hands vigorously over Jaskier’s back and arms, creating friction and hopefully warmth.

Slowly, slowly, the shivers calmed. Jaskier’s breathing evened out and Geralt knew he was asleep. Geralt slipped out of the nest and went to take proper care of the horses, brushing them and checking their feet and legs. Finished, Geralt tidied up the packs that he had flung about in his haste and when they were neatly arranged he stopped. No lute. Where was the lute?

Geralt thought again about the homing pigeon and closed his eyes. It had died, too worn out and weak from the journey to recover.

 _Broken bird, broken bird_ the thought circled in his mind. No, no, no!

  
  


***

  
  


_Jaskier_

Jaskier came to, feeling warm for the first time in weeks. He also felt a little squashed, but that was all right. He was warm and there was Roach, lipping his hair and he could hear the familiar sound of Geralt sharpening his swords and-

Wait, what?

Jaskier opened his eyes and looked around. All he remembered was the cold, as well as the fleeting thought of strong arms around him. How…?

“Geralt?” He croaked.

“Jaskier!” The sword and whetstone fell to the floor with a clatter and Geralt rushed over, shoving Roach’s muzzle away. “You’re awake. What do you need?”

“Huh?”

Geralt shook his head while Jaskier blinked at him stupidly.

“I thought you were going to die.”

“Oh,” Jaskier frowned. “I’m not dead?”

“No. You’re safe now. I’m sorry-”

“Where are we?”

“A shack I found-”

“No, I mean, _where_ are we? Are we close to Kaer Morhen?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered. “Once you’re well enough it’s about a week’s ride. Ten days,” He corrected himself. “Ten days, once you’re recovered.”

“Oh. I almost made it.”

“You did. You did so well,” Geralt said, tracing his finger over Jaskier’s forehead before catching himself and taking his hand away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to travel in this.”

“Mm,” Jaskier said, closing his eyes drowsily.

“I’m sorry for those words that I said. I’m sorry I hurt you. I swear, I will try to be better.”

“I know.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hmm? I’m not dying anymore. I don’t think. But I’m so tired.”

“Then rest,” Geralt’s hand was back and Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed. The touch was nice and he was too tired to reject it. “I will take care of you now. Rest.”

“Okay,” Jaskier closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

  
  


END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: kinkykinker


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